Super Rich: Starting the game by going back ten years to buy Bitcoin

Li Yichen stared at those two words, his thumb hovering above the screen, but he didn't press it.

"OK."

It was as clean as a glass of plain water. No wavy lines, no emojis, not even a period. But he knew perfectly well what was soaking at the bottom of that water—she remembered the coffee shop bill from last night.

Okay. I'll write it down. Let's get down to business first.

He wanted to invite Shen Ruolan to dinner at 8:30 PM, and the place needed to be booked in advance. He stood up from his chair and circled the coffee table. Several options flashed through his mind—the row of trendy restaurants along the Bund, pass, crowded and you'd have to shout to talk; negotiating a multi-million dollar deal would feel like haggling at a market. The Japanese restaurants in Lujiazui? They had the class, but imagine the scene: chopsticks holding salmon sashimi while discussing leveraged futures trading failures—the incongruity would be off the charts.

Tai'an Gate.

Last night, Zhang Guodong treated him to dinner at that place. The food was genuinely delicious, and the private room was quiet enough. The key point was that he and Zhang Guodong had just completed a 2.1 billion yuan deal. Asking him to help make a reservation wasn't a favor; it was just a matter of saying a word.

The call was dialed, rang twice, and then was answered. A loud voice came through first, its piercing power comparable to an alarm clock.

"Brother Li! So early—just tell me what you need!"

It was past seven in the morning, and this person was more energetic than the sun.

"Mr. Zhang, could you do me a favor? Could you book a private room at Tai'an Gate for 8:30 tonight?"

"A private room? No problem, no problem! How many people are in your party? Should I arrange something else for you?"

"No need, just reserve a spot."

There was a half-second pause on the other end of the phone. Presumably, the image of those five girls being asked to leave the private room last night was automatically replaying in his mind, and he swallowed the rest of his sentence.

"Okay, okay! You wait, bro, I'll call right away and send you a message once it's arranged."

"become."

After hanging up the phone, Li Yichen walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and glanced down. On the sixty-sixth floor, the morning rush hour traffic was already congested, and the taillights on the overpass looked like veins, red, slowly climbing.

My stomach growled at an inopportune moment.

He turned around, sat back on the sofa, and dialed Zhou Lan's number.

"Sister Lan, please get me some breakfast."

"Okay, Mr. Li, what would you like to eat?"

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"Anything is fine. As long as it's edible."

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Zhou Lan came in carrying a tray—millet porridge, two fried eggs, a plate of braised beef, four steamed buns, and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. The portions weren't large, but they were arranged neatly and looked appetizing.

Li Yichen sat down, picked up a small steamed bun with his chopsticks, and took a bite, almost burning his tongue with the soup. He chewed it mumbledly, while swiping his phone with his other hand.

Zhang Guodong's news is already out there.

"Hey bro, all set! Box 6 at Tai'an Gate, 8:30 tonight. It was booked in your name, just give me your name when you get there!"

Three rows of thumbs-up emojis followed, their enthusiasm practically overflowing from the screen.

Li Yichen replied with two words: "Thanks."

I put down my phone, finished everything on the plate, downed the orange juice in one gulp, wiped my mouth with a tissue, stood up, and went into the dressing room.

The clothes he bought at MixC that day were still hanging on the rack, the logos on the shopping bags gleaming matte under the lights. He casually grabbed a thin dark gray shirt and paired it with black trousers. After changing, he straightened his collar in front of the mirror. The person in the mirror was completely unrecognizable from the poor young man who delivered food on an electric scooter a year ago.

Xiao Yuqing's senior, with a background in financial engineering, works in futures and derivatives.

The eyes of this kind of person are venomous.

Quantitative traders don't judge others by their appearance at first glance; they judge by their attire. What kind of car you drive, what kind of watch you wear, what brand of clothes you wear—this isn't vanity, it's credibility. If you can't even present yourself convincingly, why should anyone believe you have worthwhile projects to manage?

Li Yichen stared at his wrist in the mirror.

empty.

No watch.

Think about it one level lower—the car.

He now relies entirely on Zhou Lan's minivan when he goes out. It's a hotel car. It's true there's no logo on the body, but the license plate is registered under the hotel's name; anyone in the know can easily check it. A self-proclaimed quantitative investment tycoon, going to business meetings in a hotel car?

If Shen Ruolan had paid even a little more attention, she could have figured out most of his true intentions on the spot—this guy was staying in a hotel, had no car, and no watch; he wasn't some quantitative trading tycoon at all. He was clearly a nouveau riche who had just won the lottery.

Nouveau riche won't take business with professionals.

I need to buy a car.

Go now.

Li Yichen came out of the dressing room, grabbed his phone and room key, and pushed open the door to leave.

The elevator landed in the ground floor lobby, where Zhou Lan was already waiting at the door.

"Sister Lan, take me to the car dealership. The biggest one in Pudong."

Zhou Lan nodded and opened the back door.

The car merged into the morning rush hour traffic, moving slowly and stopping frequently. Li Yichen leaned back in the back seat, tapping his fingers on his knees as he mentally reviewed the day's schedule.

Buy a car. Buy a watch. Go back to the hotel for a nap in the afternoon. Pick up Liu Xiaoyu for dinner at 6 PM. Arrive at Tai'an Gate to meet Shen Ruolan before 8:30 PM.

It's packed. But there's plenty of time, like a busy schedule, one show after another.

Twenty minutes later, the car stopped at the entrance of the Pudong Auto Mall. This place is more like an auto theme park than a mall—a three-story exhibition hall with dozens of brands lined up from east to west. Porsche is on the left of the entrance and Mercedes-Benz is on the right. Further in, there are BMW, Audi, and Land Rover. Further in, there are independent exhibition halls for Lamborghini and Ferrari, with lights that make it look like an art museum.

Li Yichen bent down and said into the car window, "Sister Lan, you go back first. Don't you still have to go to the hotel to handle your resignation today? Keep an eye on those three buildings too."

Zhou Lan glanced at him in the rearview mirror: "Mr. Li, are you sure you don't want me to wait?"

"No need. I'll browse by myself and leave on my own."

Zhou Lan didn't say anything more, and the car drove away.

Li Yichen turned around and walked into the exhibition hall.

At the Porsche booth, a bright white Cayenne sat on a rotating base, slowly turning, while two salesmen in suits gave him standard smiles.

It didn't stop.

The Mercedes-Benz S-Class has a black paint finish that's so shiny it could be used as a mirror.

I didn't watch it.

The Lamborghini's display was the most extravagant: a fluorescent green Urus was parked across the entrance, its scissor doors wide open, the leather seats gleaming creamy under the spotlights. I glanced at it—just once.

It's not that I look down on it. It's that I don't feel anything for it.

Are these cars good? Yes. Are they expensive? Yes. But he'd never been interested in any of those brands. Back in college, his roommates would get together and brag; one said he wanted to buy a Porsche, another said he wanted to drive a Ferrari. He sat on the top bunk, silent.

Because his goals are different from theirs.

The year I graduated, I was delivering food to the entrance of a residential area in Pudong. While waiting at a red light, a car stopped next to me.

BYD looks up to the U8.

With its dragon-like front end, four motors, and sharp, clean lines, it looked like a ferocious beast crouching there. That was the first time he'd ever seen a real electric scooter on the curb. He was still gripping the handlebars, the milk tea in his delivery box nearly spilling, and he stared at the scooter for the entire red light.

From that day on, a seed was planted in my mind—if I ever have money in the future, I will buy this.

It's not for appearances or prestige. It's just because I like it. Pure, unadulterated liking.

Now I have money.

Li Yichen turned a corner and headed directly to the east side of the second floor.

The exhibition hall, which you can look up at, is tucked away at the very back of the second floor. The location isn't prime, and the area isn't the largest, but the black U8 parked at the entrance completely overshadows the booths on both sides.

Push the door open and go inside.

The air conditioning was a level stronger than outside. A saleswoman in a black uniform walked up quickly, her ponytail neatly tied, her name tag pinned to her chest—"Gao Ting".

"Hello sir, which car are you looking for?"

"U8. Do you have any in stock?"

Gao Ting was stunned for a moment.

Quite a few people came to look at the U8 in the showroom, but not many immediately asked if there were any in stock. This translates to – I'm not here to browse, I'm here to buy. And I'm in a hurry.

"Yes, sir. We currently have three vehicles in stock in the showroom, the color of which is—"

"Take me to see it."

Gao Ting led him inside. Three U8s were parked side by side, from left to right—Aurora Black, Glacier White, and Dragon Stone Green.

Li Yichen stopped in front of the third car.

Dragon Stone Green. The paint has a subtle metallic sheen under the lights, understated yet instantly recognizable. The side profile features a sharp, clean line that cuts directly from the front fender to the rear wheel arch, without any unnecessary curves or bends.

He reached out and touched the hood. The paint was cold and slippery, barely able to grip his fingertips.

"This one."

Gao Ting hadn't taken out her notebook yet.

"Sir, wouldn't you like to take it for a test drive?"

"No need. This one is fine. Issue the invoice."

Gao Ting's pen remained suspended in the air for a full two seconds before falling.

No test drive. No haggling. No questions about specifications. Invoice issued immediately.

She's been in this line of work for four years, and this kind of buying happens only three times a year.

"Yes, sir. This U8 luxury edition has a list price of one million ninety-eight thousand—"

"OK."

Li Yichen was already taking out his phone.

Gao Ting's mouth opened and closed again. The question of "whether or not she needed to understand the financial plan" stuck in her throat and wouldn't come out.

No need. Don't even bother asking. Talking to this kind of customer about installment payments is the same as asking someone at Hermès if they want a coupon.

Twenty minutes later, the payment was completed.

One million ninety-eight thousand, full payment. When the bank deduction notification popped up, Gao Ting stood behind the counter, her eyelashes fluttering as she glanced at the string of numbers out of the corner of her eye.

Next came the paperwork. Temporary license plate, insurance, vehicle purchase tax—it was all part of the process. Gao Ting practically jogged between the various windows, her legs moving like springs.

Li Yichen sat in the rest area, crossed his legs, and scrolled through his phone.

An hour later, Gao Ting came running back carrying a file folder.

"Sir, all the formalities are complete. The temporary license plate, insurance policy, and tax payment certificate are all in the bag. The official license plate will be mailed to you in three to five business days."

She handed me the keys.

The square key box held in his palm; it was quite heavy. Li Yichen weighed it in his hand; it felt metallic and cool to the touch.

Stand up and walk towards the vehicle handover area.

The U8 in Dragon Stone Green was washed until it gleamed. It was parked in the center of the handover area, with the temporary license plate affixed to the lower right corner of the windshield. When the lights shone on it, the whole car looked like it had just been unsheathed.

I opened the car door and got in. All four seats were upholstered in Nappa leather, and the steering wheel felt substantial and comfortable to hold. With the push-button start, the instrument cluster and center console screen lit up simultaneously, displaying the message, "Welcome to the Yangwang U8."

Step down.

The electric motor, boasting over a thousand horsepower, instantly channeled torque into the four wheels, propelling the entire vehicle forward silently. The push-back sensation pressed against the seat back, solid and smooth, not the kind of brute force that comes from a violent temper, but a precise and tamed power—controlled and effortless.

Li Yichen's lips curled into a slight smile.

That poor college student who used to stare blankly at the taillights of the U8 while riding his electric scooter is now sitting behind the wheel of this car.

The car drove out of the car mall and merged into the main road.

Next stop—buying a watch.

He didn't turn towards MixC. The drama of "the wife beating up the mistress" from last night was still fresh in his mind; if he went there again today, he might run into some acquaintance, which would be awkward.

I checked the navigation and found that there's a Hang Lung Plaza about three kilometers away.

Five minutes later, the U8 turned into the underground parking garage of Hang Lung Plaza. The car was so wide that it took two maneuvers to barely squeeze into the parking space, leaving less than 20 centimeters of space on each side.

After getting out of the car, I locked it and headed towards the elevator with the keys in my hand.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, the bright white lights of the lobby shone down. Directly opposite was a row of shop windows, displaying three watches on black velvet trays, their hands flashing briefly under the light.

Li Yichen lifted his foot and walked towards the entrance of that store.

Just as I stepped across the threshold, a voice came from my left.

"Hey—isn't this Li Yichen?"

My feet were planted firmly on the ground.

He recognized the voice. It came from the nose, with a rising tone at the end, and a strange, sarcastic tone that was at least 80 percent off.

He turned his head.

In the rest area to the left of the entrance, a man in a white polo shirt stood up from the sofa, holding a cup of coffee in his hand, with a smile on his face that looked like he had seen a mouse fall into a rice jar.

Liu Qiang.